


lonely and greedy demands

by beanierose



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: M/M, Tread Carefully, david doesn't exist in this universe because i'm gay and i said so, this one's pretty rpf y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 08:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21454687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanierose/pseuds/beanierose
Summary: katya listens to soldier for the first time
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 42
Kudos: 148





	lonely and greedy demands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter/gifts).

> one of the first stories i read in this fandom was [cactus & lily](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816449) by the very talented [campholmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/campholmes), and ever since i read that one i've been thinking about the first time katya heard soldier. special thanks to [conny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnyHasControl), [shea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoanneElizabeth) and [sophie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattepinkallshades) for being so supportive and encouraging and eager to see this one!
> 
> and this one's for [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter). no one else could have held out their hands and helped me feel safe to step out of my comfort zone. i'm so grateful, i'm so lucky. i love you.

i am a man with a heart that offends  
with its lonely and greedy demands  
**sufjan stevens, _john my beloved_**

* * *

Trixie sent over the file a half hour ago and Katya hasn’t moved since. He’s standing, hunched over his laptop on the island, and he feels like a gargoyle. Like his bones are calcifying. The audio quality of his computer speakers is not great but he’s afraid to connect to the bluetooth ones. It feels like there’s a thin surfactant film around him, iridescent in the fading sunlight. If he breathes in deep enough he can get the alkaline taste of it, but he isn’t breathing deeply.

It starts again — it starts _again_ — and Katya sinks down to sit on the kitchen floor and puts his forehead to his knees. He’s in his boy clothes. He can’t help thinking of them like that still, his boy clothes and his real clothes, even though it’s been weeks since he’s worn any of his dresses. Anything that’s hers.

Trixie’s voice sounds tinny but unmistakably herself. She’s mentioned once or twice that she’s been working on a song for him, about him, inspired by him. Every time she brings it up it’s something different. There was no warning that it would be today, just an email pinging into his inbox with the subject line _BITCH!!!!!_

It’d made him laugh, and he’d still been laughing when he double clicked the file and that first note started. It’s some kind of horn, or a trumpet maybe? He’s not a musician, Mary. He’s got his phone clutched tight in both hands, but it’s quiet. He deleted the apps for Twitter and Snapchat and Instagram, so it’s only his texts and his emails that ever have notifications and those have been quiet lately. His life is filled with good people who respect his boundaries. It’s more than he deserves.

_Trixie_, he texts her, and then her name again, eight more times. He doesn’t know what else to say. The grey bubble with the three dots in it pops up immediately. Katya likes to think of her touching the screen of her own phone, across town, and thinking about him. It starts and stops a couple of times, and then she sends him an emoji of a blonde girl in a crown. He stares at it, and while he’s staring she texts him again.

_Call you later?_

_i dont need to hear any more of your voice today_ he sends back, and then locks his phone and tosses it away from him. He might have cracked the screen; Trixie keeps telling him to use protection and then moaning right up against his ear. It makes him laugh, and then he forgets.

The song starts up again and he reaches blindly up and behind himself, gropes around until he finds his laptop and can slam it shut. It feels like he’s inside out, like all of the raw and pink and most tender parts of him are on the outside. He does want to talk to Trixie about it. He also can’t bear to wait for her to call him.

Part of him had assumed that Trixie would play the song for him in person. That he’d get to hear it while he was stretched out along Trixie’s pink couch with his head in her lap — they do that, sometimes, it’s not a big deal. He’s made off-kilter by the whole thing.

Katya moves around the apartment and collects sunglasses, hat, keys, wallet, phone. He doesn’t understand how everything gets flung out so wide like shrapnel, why he can’t seem to manage to collect everything in a little bowl on the entry table like Trixie does.

Well. He doesn’t have a bowl. He doesn’t even have an entry table, just a pile of black sneakers and a sad palm beside the front door. For a moment he flounders, trying to remember whether he needs a jacket. It’s the beginning of February, but he’s not in Boston now. He takes one with him anyway, because he likes the thought of leaving it somewhere messy in Trixie’s house just to annoy her.

He walks. It’s not that far to Trixie’s place. When he moved out here she insisted he not lease somewhere too close to her apartment because she didn’t want to _hear your fucking weird noises at four in the morning, you rotted ghoul_. She didn’t really mean it, and she went to a couple viewings with him and thought about stuff he never would have, like to check that he had bars on his phone.

It’s way too complicated to figure out how to get the file to play on his phone. Every time he locks the screen it stops, so he settles for one of his yoga playlists. While he’s walking he takes deep, centring breaths. Something’s happening, with them. Something has always been happening, and he likes to joke about the bonding experience that is a shared trauma, but it’s not like this with any of the other Ru Girls. Not even the others from their season.

Katya’s phone starts vibrating in the pocket of his pants and startles him, yanks out a little yelp from the back of his throat. A woman coming towards him with her son gives him a weird look and manhandles the kid until he’s on the opposite side of her body from Katya. Whatever, Susan, it’s not even all the way dark yet.

“Hello, hi, good evening, hello,” he says into the phone.

On the other end of the call, Trixie laughs at him. She sounds so good, just exactly like herself. It helps Katya to remember that he’s himself, too.

“Did you like it? Tell me I did a good job.”

Trixie trails off into a moan and all of the breath goes out of Katya just that quickly. He knows it doesn’t mean _that_, it doesn’t mean anything. He also knows, from a couple treasured past experiences, that this is nothing like what Trixie’s actual moaning sounds like.

They’ve never gotten past making out, frantic and clutching at each other in one of their beds, and it’s been a while. It’s been months and months, maybe a year if he really lets himself think about it.

“Trixie. Trix, I’m coming over. Is that okay? I guess that doesn’t matter, it’s already happening, I can see your building. You have to let me in, okay, please.”

Trixie’s giggling right up against his ear, and he realises suddenly that she’s _nervous_. She knows he liked her first album (he insisted on telling her how proud he was every ten minutes for a whole twelve hours until she blocked him) but this is different.

“I’ll let you in, you vampire. Tell me when to buzz.”

They stay on the line, not talking, until Katya gets to the door of Trixie’s building. He can hear her doing something, moving around. It feels almost too intimate, invasive, but when he says he’s there he gets to hear the little hitch in her breathing.

Katya takes the stairs two at a time. There’s an elevator — Trixie’s _rich_ — but he likes the little jolt of awareness every time his foot hits a step. He knocks loudly and takes a step away from the door, jams both hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

“Hi,” Trixie says when she opens the door. Very softly, like she’s shy. She’s wearing a muscle tee and jeans and he’s half hard immediately just at the sight of her.

“Trixie,” he says uselessly, and then, with more courage, “Brian. Oh my God.”

She’s laughing at him a little bit, he thinks. She steps back to let him inside and closes the front door behind them both. He likes Trixie’s apartment very much. It smells like her, and it’s so pink and pretty. They usually hang out at Trixie’s place, because she refuses to risk catching anything from Katya’s _hovel_. Her words, thank you. It’s been a while since he’s been here.

“Was it that bad?”

Trixie’s moving for the kitchen and he follows her even though he doesn’t want anything. Not to eat. Now that he’s here in front of her, he really doesn’t know what to say. She turns to look at him and he’s suddenly flustered, which is so stupid because this is Trixie, it’s _Trixie_, but he feels like she’s seen him naked.

Which, well, she _has_, but not- context, Karen.

“Oh, you’re a cunt,” he gets out, and she screams into the refrigerator and closes it without actually pulling anything out. “You know it’s good, you fucking bitch. You know you’re good.”

“I know it’s a good _song_.” She’s framed in the window, looking at him with all that pink-gold light spilling in around her. It makes the peach fuzz of her head almost white and he has the sudden, strange thought that he wants to put his mouth there. “But it’s like, all of your shit. I don’t know.”

Trixie goes for the couch and Katya follows her, helpless. She flops down dramatically and rests one arm along the back, draws her knee up to angle her body towards his. He’s got his legs pressed together from ankle to knee, his hands trapped between his thighs because he’s gonna start fidgeting any second and he doesn’t want to do that right now.

“Did you like it?” she asks him.

The thing is, he doesn’t know. He thinks he liked it — he likes most everything that Trixie does — but he also feels vaguely nauseated and kind of like his skin is on too tight. His voice, when he finds it, is small and soft. “I liked it a lot. I think.”

“You _think_?” Trixie howls, and folds herself almost in half. When she stops screaming she straightens up again to jab an accusatory finger at him. “Wow, thank you so much. I’m so grateful for your endless support.”

None of this is right. He isn’t saying the things he wants to say. Trixie’s still wheezing a little bit. He loves when she cracks herself up like this, her mouth open wide and her nose all crinkled. Katya is quick to laugh, it’s one of the things he likes most about himself, and it usually takes very little effort on Trixie’s part before he’s cackling right along with her. He can’t do it today.

“Wait, just- shut up? Please shut up. I need you to be very quiet and very still,” he says.

She stops laughing slowly, her shoulders shuddering. “Jesus, Katya, I know you like them cold, but-”

“_Brian_.”

That shuts her up right away. “Okay, okay.” Trixie shows him her palms. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

“I really liked it. Trixie. I really, really liked it.”

Katya reaches for Trixie’s hands, both of them, and clings tightly. She’s not laughing at all now. He knows he’s being too intense and freaking her out, that whenever he gets too serious she gets worried, but he can’t help it. His heart feels swollen and sticky and Trixie looks so good, comfortable and calm while she waits for him to figure it out.

He’s figured it out now. He’s pretty sure.

“It sounds like. . .Trixie. You did that for me, and I- what does it-”

“Just say it,” she says. “Just ask me.”

Katya turns his hands over so he can lace his fingers with Trixie’s. “Trixie, do you love me? Because you wrote me a song, and it sounds like you love me.”

“Of course I love you. I _hate_ you, you’re awful, but you know I love you.”

“That’s not what I-”

Katya untangles one of his hands so he can pinch the bridge of his nose, hard. He hates having to be the courageous one. It’s Trixie who pushes, Trixie who always knows exactly what she wants. At any given time, Katya usually just wants a cigarette and maybe to fuck. Trixie wants difficult things, complicated things.

“Trixie, are you in love with me?” he says, and then, because horror is spilling all down Trixie’s face. “It’s just that- _I’m_ in love with _you_. I’m in love with you.”

“Oh, _gross_,” Trixie says, and gets up from the couch. “No you’re not.”

She leaves him sitting there while she disappears into the kitchen. Katya lets his head thud against the back of the couch and closes his eyes. He can hear her pottering around, busying herself. They’ve toured together enough times, spent enough time together generally, that he’s comfortable existing in a space with Trixie. He doesn’t feel like he has to fill the silence.

Trixie comes back with a glass of water for each of them. She puts Katya’s right into his hands and he gulps half of it down, only just now realising how thirsty he is from his walk over here. If it were any other day he would drop it and they’d turn on a movie or scroll around on their phones, occasionally show each other something funny. But he can hear Trixie in his head, telling him to take his time. He’s _been_ taking his time, they both have, and he’s so tired.

“Trix, I’m not joking.” He puts his glass down, because he’s trembling a bit and he doesn’t want her to see the water sloshing around inside. “I’m not- I mean it. I’m in love with you.”

Trixie sucks in a sharp breath. It makes her stomach fill out a little more inside her shirt, that pudge that she can’t get rid of no matter how hard she works out. He likes it; he would like to mark her with his teeth. “Stop saying that.”

“You started it!” he squawks at her. “Fuckin’_ you’ve got time to grow_. Everybody’s gonna know, Tracy.”

He can’t be sure in the low light, but Trixie might be blushing. He doesn’t get to see it often (Trixie is difficult to rattle) but it makes something small and fearsome come to life in the pit of his stomach. Now that he’s said it, he doesn’t think he can let it drop. He’s been terribly lonely, but Trixie wrote him a love song and she’s looking at him now with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“Katya,” she whispers, and then nothing else after that. Her mouth stays open and Katya can see the wet pink of her tongue, the work of her throat when she swallows. “What do we do?”

He’s crying, then, sort of by accident. He swipes uselessly at his cheeks but the tears keep coming and coming, and then he lets out a tiny wet sob and it’s all over. Trixie cracks, Trixie _crumbles_. He hates when she cries. He doesn’t ever, ever want Trixie to be hurting, and especially not because of him.

“Can I just- just. . .hold you?”

Trixie screams and thrashes around on the couch. She’s gotten herself together again just that easily, but even in the almost-dark he can see silvery tracks on her round cheeks. “You fucking fag, can you _hold me_?”

“Never mind, never mind,” Katya shrieks. He shakes his fists and squirms in his seat, almost gets up from the couch to run a little circle on the spot. It’s broken them out of whatever _that_ was, at least, and he’s laughing even as the last of his tears slip inside of his mouth.

He thinks that’s it, that they’ll do what they always do and he’ll carry it around with him for another year, but then Trixie closes the space between them and rests her head at his shoulder. It’s not super comfortable, because Trixie is taller and broader than Katya is, but he manages to get an arm around her.

“I can’t believe you wrote a song for me,” he says. The top of Trixie’s head is warm and smells good and he lingers there, glad she can’t see his face right now. He feels able to be still, with Trixie snuggled up against him and the weight of her on his chest.

Trixie wriggles around a bit until her lovely nose is pressed against the side of Katya’s neck. He can feel her breathing, her lashes just barely brushing his skin. “Did you just now realise?”

“That I love you?” Trixie grunts in response to that, but he doesn’t miss the way her entire body goes still against his. “Absolutely not. I’ve known for such a long time, Trix. I didn’t think that you-”

He cuts himself off, because he can’t bear to say that. He feels a very small touch against his throat, warm and wet, and doesn’t want to let himself believe that it’s a kiss. It seems silly, now, to have brought it up at all. He could have just had this, Trixie in his arms, and not detonated their entire relationship.

“You’re so stupid,” Trixie says. She shifts as if she’s going to sit up and look at him, and he tightens his arm around her. “Of course I- we just don’t want the same things.”

“I want you, Trixie. Can we just start there. I’m so tired of not kissing you.”

Trixie makes a tiny noise, a little squeak, and a fresh wave of tears makes Katya’s vision shimmer and then blur. Trixie fists her hand in Katya’s shirt, right over his heart. It’s good to just breathe together for a little while. He listened to the song enough times that it feels like he might always be hearing it, for the rest of his life.

“You do kiss me,” Trixie says eventually. Her voice is a little watery around the edges still.

Katya kisses the top of her head. The skin there is smooth and warm and tender; his dick twitches against his thigh. It makes her shriek a little giggle and squirm and he has to let her sit up. He’s stronger, but Trixie’s shoulders are so broad and she’s gotten strong, too. She rubs a hand over the top of her own head like she’s making a wish.

When she leans across him to turn on the table lamp by his elbow the weight of her in his lap makes all the breath go out of him in a great rush that she definitely hears. She’s gracious enough not to comment, but when she straightens up again she leaves her hand at his knee.

He really likes her fingers. That one time, that stupid fucking video when he’d sucked two of her fingers into his mouth and swallowed them down, slid his tongue into the crease between them- he’d jerked off twice that night thinking about it, two of his own fingers in his mouth and his other hand fisting his dick.

“I wanna kiss you. . .all the time.” He drops his voice an octave to rasp at her, because it never fails to make her scream. “Will you let me fuck you, Barbara.”

She honks out a startled noise and squeezes his leg hard enough he feels his kneecap shift. He wants her. He wants her so, so bad.

“You’re such a cliché,” Trixie says very seriously. He can see the outline of her dick through her jeans, and she’s looking at him looking at it. “I write you one song and you’re falling at my feet. If you throw your panties at me I’ll never fucking talk to you again.”

“Do you want them?” Katya arcs his hips up off the couch and makes like he’s going to pull his sweats down to his knees. He’s teasing her, but he doesn’t miss the ridge of her Adam’s apple bouncing in her throat.

Trixie scrambles back away from him on a scream. Warmth starts as something very small in the middle of his chest and germinates outwards into his fingertips and toes.

Katya lets his ass drop back down to the couch cushion and leaves his sweatpants where they are. They aren’t doing much to help him out right now and yes, thank you, he does see Trixie’s eyes darting helplessly to his crotch every couple seconds.

“I want you, Katya,” Trixie says. She’s sideways on the couch, against the armrest with her feet close to his thigh. He wants to touch them, he wants to peel off her socks and experience the unique intimacy of that bare skin and the round bone of her ankle. He makes a little noise so that she’ll keep talking.

“It’s really hard always being the one to rein it in. You just-” she gestures vaguely at him. “We’d have been fucking for years. But I’m- you heard the song.”

She’s tearing up again then, a little bit. He’s seen it a couple times. When he saw that video of her watching herself getting eliminated, crying all alone on stage, he called her immediately. She had laughed at him, but her voice had cracked on his name when she’d thanked him for checking in.

He has to have her. He has to.

Katya closes the space between them and cradles Trixie’s face in his hands. Her skin feels smoother and softer than he’s used to — c’mon dermatologist — and he lets his thumbs stroke over her cheeks. Her eyes flutter closed, and it means he gets to look at her the way he always wants to. Trixie’s gorgeous, that’s an undisputed fact, but Brian is too. Katya loves her big nose and her dark eyes and her ears, loves the way she smells and her body solid beneath his.

“Don’t kiss me while I’m crying,” she says, but she’s laughing too.

Her open mouth is right there, close enough that he can feel her breathing against his cheek. Just the knowledge that he’s gonna get to kiss her again is making him leak precum into his sweats. He leans in and Trixie’s moaning before he even touches her. He’s got one hand at the back of her neck now and the other against her jaw to feel it move. She’s open-mouth kissing him already, her tongue hot and insistent. He opens to her, of course he does, and he shifts until one of her thighs is between his. He kisses her and kisses her, and she keeps kissing him back.

When they pause to breathe and Trixie opens her eyes to him they’re unfocused and dark, her pupils blown out. Katya suddenly, desperately, needs to be touching her skin. He gets his hand underneath Trixie’s shirt and splays it wide against her stomach, feels the ragged lift and collapse of her chest.

“This could ruin everything,” Trixie says. She sounds fucked out, and all he’s done is kiss her. He opens his mouth to tease but she rolls her hips experimentally and he feels her, huge and hard for him, and he chokes on his next breath.

“Yeah,” he gets out, and takes another kiss from her.

Trixie kisses him back and she’s rocking her hips now and moaning these broken little noises into his mouth. He likes the press of her nose against his cheek. When she separates from him again there’s a string of saliva connecting their mouths that he swipes away with his thumb.

“I don’t think I can get over you.”

“Then don’t,” he says. “Don’t get over me. Get under me instead.”

She screams at him, uncomfortably loud since her dick is against his thigh and he’s propping himself up with one arm braced next to her head. It makes him laugh too, and relief surges through him that they can have this, they can do this, and still be them.

“I hate you so much,” Trixie says, and hooks her fingers around his ear to pull him in before he can retaliate.

They kiss, and kiss and kiss, and Katya finds himself gasping Trixie’s name into her mouth. She’s grinding against him and it feels so good, it’s so good and it’s _Trixie_. Sweat is beading at the back of his neck and sliding down between his shoulder blades.

Katya works the button of Trixie’s fly open with one hand and grabs at her with the other, feels her hot and heavy in his palm even through the denim. Each tooth of the zipper makes a little _snick_ as it comes unfastened that goes straight to his dick. There’s no space between their bodies for Katya to do anything, and he can’t stop rutting against Trixie’s thigh long enough to create some.

He gets his hand inside Trixie’s jeans, beneath her underwear too, and around to her ass. Katya grasps as much of her as he can and pulls sharply upward so that she arches against him. He kisses her, slick and wet and graceless because he can’t focus. He has Trixie’s bare ass in his hands and her skin is so warm and she’s making these tiny keening noises in the back of her throat.

Katya inches inward and presses down experimentally with his thumb. It makes Trixie gasp and rear up against him, propping herself up on one elbow. “I’m not prepped, you fucking criminal.”

“I’m not either,” he says into her mouth. “I don’t care. I need to blow you.”

“Oh, my _God_.” She collapses back against the couch cushion and brings him down to her with both hands curled at his ears.

He’s a good kisser, he knows he is. He _likes_ it. He could stay just like this, Trixie’s tongue in his mouth and her soft, warm body beneath his, for hours and hours. Katya has kissed a lot of people, but it’s different with Trixie. It’s different when you’re in love, he thinks, and then immediately hears Trixie’s banshee wail pierce straight through his skull. He checks, but she’s still looking up at him all smudged and pink and he knows he didn’t say it out loud.

Katya manages to get Trixie’s jeans and her underwear down a bit. Her thighs are trussed, but her dick is between their bodies now and leaking precum onto her stomach. Katya gives himself a moment just to look, his mouth filling with saliva. When he touches his thumb to the head Trixie whines and twitches beneath him.

“You really suck.”

He grins and circles his fingers around her, lets her fuck up into his hand. “Sure, if you want.”

“This is- we can’t-” Katya takes both hands off her immediately, but she’s grabbing at him before he can really go anywhere and hauling him back down against her. Her thigh is solid between his legs and he rocks his hips down sharply again. “Katya, I can’t come back from this. I mean it.”

“I don’t wanna come back from this,” he tells her. He feels desperately awake, like all of his nerve endings are crackling. “Trixie I’m so sad, all the time. And I’m tired, mama. It hurts me to not have you.”

Her face goes soft around the edges. Katya touches Trixie’s dick again, smooth long strokes that make her squirm and gasp. She’s noisy all the time, and this is no different. He likes it so much, how she sounds out of control already and he’s barely touched her.

“You have me, you have me,” she chokes out, and pulls him in to kiss her some more. He tightens his grip and puts a little twist on the end of his glide that makes her bite down on his bottom lip. She’s slick with precum and so hot against his palm that it’s making his mouth water again, more. He is literally drooling over her, and he’s pretty sure he’s never going to be allowed to forget it.

“Trixie, Trixie, please let me blow you,” he says into her mouth.

She makes a rough growling noise and drops her head back against the armrest. “Oh my god, yes. Yes, yes, please.”

Katya kisses her one last time, licking into her mouth and letting her rock her hips into his hand. He breaks away to move down the couch and bow his head over Trixie. She’s panting already, and his mouth is watering and he hasn’t even touched her yet.

He licks up the entire length of her with the flat of his tongue and she bucks into him, mutters an apology he ignores. He gets his lips around her and stays very still, adjusting to the weight of her in his mouth. Trixie whines and digs her fingers into the top of his shoulder.

“Katya, jesus, _please_.”

He focuses then, starts blowing her like it’s the last chance he’s ever gonna get. She’s trying very hard to keep still and making these tiny desperate noises. She’s so huge that he can feel the corners of his mouth beginning to split open, but he’s not a quitter.

He pops off her with an obscene noise and swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re very cute when you’re desperate.”

“_Fuck_.” Trixie throws one arm over her face. Her dick is right next to his face still and he kisses the soft head, closed mouth and gentle. “You’re the worst person I know. Please get me off.”

“‘kay,” he grins up at her. Katya takes her into his mouth again. When he moans he feels the vibration all through his skull and down into his neck.

“Will you- I want you to touch yourself. I want you to jerk off while you blow me.”

Katya’s eyes slam closed and he makes a strangled noise. He wants to take Trixie deeper, wants to press his nose to her stomach and gag around her. He palms himself through his sweats, the head of his dick brushing against the wet patch on the fabric.

He loves giving head, and every few seconds the thought pops into his head that it’s _Trixie_, they’re doing this, he’s fucking Trixie right now. He’s so close that he’s afraid to touch his bare skin.

“You look so good with my cock in your mouth,” Trixie says to him. She’s looking down the length of her body and it’s making her chin crinkle up. A wave of tenderness rolls through him and he has to close his eyes again, focus on making Trixie feel good. “You’re so hot, Katya, oh my god.”

He gets his hand beneath his sweats then and fists his dick, squeezes the base hard so he doesn’t come immediately. Trixie’s watching him do it, watching him touch himself while he sucks her off. He lets her go and she whines and chases his mouth, her hips lifting.

“Trix, are you- I’m- fuck.”

“Yes, yeah, please Katya.” She nods hurriedly at him. Her whole face is red and blotchy, down onto her chest and shoulders as well. He wishes they weren’t still fully clothed, that he could see all of her, but they’ve got time. Later, he can look at her as much as he likes.

He takes her into his mouth again, as far as he can, and he tries to match the rhythm of his hand around his own dick to his head bobbing over Trixie. She taps his cheek with two fingers to warn him, but he doesn’t stop, couldn’t stop even if he wanted. He swallows her down as she writhes around beneath him, and he follows her almost immediately.

She’s got one hand fisted in his shirt and she tugs until he gets the idea and moves up the couch again to lay half over her. He can feel her dick, softening and still wet from his mouth, against his thigh.

“Well, fuck,” Trixie says, and then laughs wildly at herself. He laughs too, because he just had sex with Trixie — he had sex with _Trixie!_ — and they’re okay. She’s got her arm around his neck and she’s tracing concentric patterns onto his collarbone. “That’s- what happens now?”

Katya nuzzles his face against Trixie’s neck. She smells good, like sex and sweat and herself. He closes his eyes for just a minute. He usually doesn’t love to cuddle, afterwards, but he wants to stay right here with his leg hooked over Trixie’s and her breath on his cheek.

“I’m not good at this, Brian,” he says very quietly. “I don’t know how to do it right. But I really want to try.”

Trixie is quiet for a moment or two. He’s a little worried that he’s blown it already — _don’t_ — and Trixie is going to send him out into the night in his damp sweatpants. He sort of wants to feel her skin against his, and he really thinks hard about asking her to take off her fucking muscle tee, but he’s afraid to say anything else at all. When she does speak, finally, he feels the vibration of it through her skull and into his.

“I think,” she says slowly, “that’s a good place to start. I think that’s the best we can ask for.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'd love to hear what you thought! you can come chat to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie) or [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) if you like ♡


End file.
